Wife and Mother Wanted (4 page)

‘D
ADDY
, is it okay if I make hot cross buns with Carissa? She has to make a whole heap for Easter, and she needs my help. She has flour and sugar and a special big mixing bowl and everything. Can I? Please, Daddy? Please?’

Brody rubbed the spot between his eyes, the one which permanently ached these days, and looked down at his daughter, hopping from one foot to the other. Her blue eyes sparkled, but a dirty smudge streaked down the side of her face, one plait had come undone, her dress was buttoned up wrong and a buckle on her Mary-Janes had come loose.

Hell, she looked like Orphan Annie—and a neglected Orphan Annie at that. Molly deserved so much more than he could give, but right now he could barely face each day, let alone find an abundance of attention to spill over to his daughter at the end of it. He was tired—so damn tired. Tired of the long, endless days, tired of having no focus and, worst of all, tired of the never-ending guilt because he’d deprived his precious little girl of her mother.

Despite the passing years, it didn’t get any easier. Nothing sparked his interest any more, and if it weren’t for Molly he probably would’ve become a beach bum
by now—living like a hermit in the far north tropics, not seeing another soul for years on end.

However, he couldn’t run away. He had responsibilities, and the main one was currently staring up at him with those brilliant blue eyes so like her mother’s.

‘Okay, but don’t be too long. You need to have a bath before dinner.’

‘But Carissa said we could eat the buns for dinner.’ Molly pouted, another action reminiscent of Jackie, who had made an art form out of the gesture in an attempt to get her own way.

He sighed, deciding to give in this once. He’d gone out of his way to avoid his nosy neighbour since she’d cooked him that thank-you dinner a few days ago, not in the mood to make polite small talk with someone he had no intention of seeing any more than necessary. However, Carissa seemed like a woman with a steady head on her shoulders, and from what he’d seen she was good with kids. Perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to let Molly befriend her. After all, why let Molly suffer because of his anti-social personality?

‘Sure thing, munchkin. You can eat the buns for dinner.’

‘Yay! Daddy, you’re the best!’ Molly flung herself at him and he scooped her up, snuggling into her as she wrapped her arms around his neck, his heart filled with love but his head wishing he could be a better father—the type of father she deserved.

‘But not too many, okay? Otherwise you might get a tummy ache.’

Molly’s eyes widened and she wrinkled up her nose, obviously remembering her last attack of the gripes.
She’d moaned for what seemed like hours, and he’d felt totally and utterly helpless, waiting for the paracetamol to kick in.

So what was new? He usually felt helpless around her anyway.

‘I promise to only eat two.’ She held up her fingers and counted. ‘One. Two. See? Only this many won’t give me a tummy ache, will it?’

Chuckling, he dropped a kiss on her nose. ‘Two will be just fine. I’ll come and get you from Carissa’s in an hour, so be good.’

She slid off his lap and sent him a reproachful stare. ‘I’m always good, Daddy. Bye.’ With a quick wave she ran out the door and skipped across the front lawn to Carissa’s, where the woman bent down and enveloped her in a hug before beckoning her inside.

Brody braced himself against the windowsill, pleased that he hadn’t lost his astute eye for character assessment. It had been a bonus as a cop—not that he had much use for those skills these days. Carissa had known Molly less than a week, and she’d welcomed his little girl into her life with no expectations, no demands. The sight of her embracing Molly left him thankful that he’d made a correct decision for once.

In fact, Carissa had shown more interest in Molly in these last few days than Jackie had in the first twenty-two months of Molly’s life. Although Jackie had certainly loved their little girl in her own way, she hadn’t had much in the way of maternal bones in her model-thin body. Probably another reason why what little affection he’d had for her when they’d first married had slowly but surely died.

Grateful for an hour’s respite from his whirlwind daughter, he headed for the shower. However, he didn’t get very far as an ear-piercing scream ripped through the dusk. It came straight from Carissa’s.

Silently praying that nothing had happened to Molly, he vaulted the fence between their homes and ran straight through Carissa’s front door. Another high-pitched scream from the kitchen had him tearing through her doll-like house at breakneck speed, his heart in his mouth.

He’d stopped believing in God around the time he’d lost Jackie, but now he found himself making bargains with the great man.

Lord, please let Molly be safe. I couldn’t handle losing her too. She’s everything to me. I’ll be a better person, I promise. Starting with being a better father. And being nicer to my neighbour
.

In the split second it took him to recite his plea bargain with God he’d burst into the kitchen, scanning the scene with years of practice as a police officer: check for danger, eliminate risk, make the environment safe.

During his years on the force he’d faced armed robbers, drug addicts stoned out of their brains and even the odd murderer. He’d thought he’d seen it all and was prepared for any contingency. However, staring at the scene in front of him, he knew he’d been wrong.

‘Come on, Carissa, hop down. It’ll be okay. He won’t hurt you.’ Molly stood next to the benchtop, tugging insistently on Carissa’s hand, while his neighbour cowered on the bench, both feet tucked under her skirt and her face covered in flour.

Carissa shook her head furiously, sending a cloud of
flour into the air around her, floating like a nimbus. ‘Uh-uh. He could still be under the table.’

Molly giggled and tugged on Carissa’s hand harder. ‘No, silly. I saw him run behind that cupboard and into that little hole. Wanna take a look?’

‘No!’ Carissa wriggled back on the benchtop and scrunched her legs up further, if that were possible.

The tension drained from Brody’s body and, trying not to laugh, he stepped into Carissa’s line of vision. ‘Everything okay in here?’

Carissa fixed him with a withering stare. ‘Does it look okay to you?’

‘Daddy! Daddy! I saw a Mickey! He ran straight across the floor and under that cupboard. He was real quick, but Carissa got scared and hopped up there and now she won’t come down.’ Molly had released Carissa’s hand and raced across the kitchen to grab his. ‘Come and help her down. I don’t think she’s listening to me.’

Stifling a grin, he allowed his daughter to lead him to where Carissa sat.

‘Afraid of mice, huh?’

‘Smart deduction, wise guy.’ She slid towards the edge of the bench and he reached out, placed both hands on her hips and lifted her to the floor.

She weighed next to nothing, and his hands moulded to her waist snugly. He’d never had a thing for petite women, but try telling that to his dormant hormones.

‘Thanks.’ Her hands rested on his chest, the heat from her palms scorching through the cotton of his polo shirt.

Let her go. Pull away
.

Instead, he just stood there, like one of the stuffed
mannequins the cops used to practise their tackles on, staring down at her. Even with her face covered in flour, her curls tumbling in riotous waves and an apron string draped around an ear, she looked beautiful.

And the urge to kiss her shocked the hell out of him.

‘Isn’t my dad the best, Carissa?’ Molly plopped onto a chair, legs swinging, and picked up a wooden spoon to resume bun-making duties.

‘He sure is,’ Carissa murmured, her wide-eyed blue gaze never leaving his for a second, making him feel like a superhero.

Clearing his throat, he managed a weak smile as he stepped away, breaking the weird spell that had held them enthralled while they touched. ‘I didn’t do much. It looks like Molly had the situation perfectly under control.’

Molly nodded, and brandished her spoon like a sword. ‘I love Mickeys. I tried to tell Carissa that, but she kept making really loud noises—like the ones you don’t like me making, Daddy.’

To his amusement, Carissa blushed beneath her flour coating, the faint pink staining her cheeks adding to the pretty picture she made even dusted in the white stuff.

‘It’s a stupid phobia I’ve had for ever.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper to protect Molly from hearing how her new friend detested ‘Mickeys’. ‘Sorry about the screaming.’

Before he could question his action, he reached out and brushed her cheek. ‘Hey, don’t worry about it. I’m used to rescuing damsels in distress, remember? Even if this cop hung up his badge ages ago.’

Her blush deepened, and for one crazy second he thought she’d lean into his hand. Hell, he wanted her
to. He wanted to caress her cheek, to feel the heat just beneath the surface of her porcelain skin.

Had he lost his mind?

There was no room in his life for anyone other than Molly, and even she was proving a handful.

Yet for one tiny, infinite moment he wanted this woman, and the knowledge slammed into his consciousness like a blast from a detonated bomb. He just hoped the results wouldn’t be as devastating.

Dropping his hand as if burned, he said, ‘I guess the bun-making exercise is off, then?’

‘Not on your life! Molly and I are committed—aren’t we, sweetie?’

At her name, Molly looked up from the recipe book she’d been flipping through and Brody smiled, recognising the determined glint in his daughter’s eyes. At five going on six, Molly had a mind of her own—and, once made up, he had an extremely difficult time swaying her.

‘Yep. I wanna make hot cross buns. And you said I could eat two for dinner, Daddy. You promised.’

Carissa grinned in triumph and Brody knew when he was beaten. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. Just holler if you see a you-know-what scamper across the floor again.’

‘Why don’t you and Molly stay for dinner? I’ll ring for a pizza—that way I can shower, and we’ll make the buns afterwards.’ She grimaced as she swiped at her face, coming away with a dusting of flour on her hands. ‘I must look a fright.’

You look beautiful
was what he thought.

‘It won’t take you long to get cleaned up,’ was what he said.

Real smooth, Elliott. Way to go!

It had been way too long since he’d had female company, and it showed. For a guy who’d used to have a way with words, he sure made a hash of things whenever he exchanged more than a simple hello with Carissa. Not that he had any intention of exchanging more than a few words with her. Getting involved with a woman again wasn’t on his agenda and never would be.

His reaction to her earlier had been purely chemical. A normal guy attracted to a beautiful woman. Nothing more, nothing less. Chemistry he could handle; it was the emotional stuff he could do without. Either way, it was definitely time to retreat.

‘Thanks for the invitation, but I’ll leave you ladies to it. Molly—behave. I’ll be back in an hour.’

He sent a curt nod Carissa’s way, waved at his daughter, and all but ran out the door.

Damn, why couldn’t he live next to a crotchety old man like himself rather than a vibrant young woman? Logically, he knew nothing could ever happen between them. He wouldn’t let it. Physically, his body could do without the temptation. Emotionally, he was too drained to give anyone anything apart from Molly.

And he would definitely prefer to keep it that way.

C
ARISSA
ordered a pizza, had a quick shower while Molly watched a DVD, and tried not to dither over how she looked.

She never dithered—especially over her appearance. She dressed for comfort, not style, and as for make-up—she rarely used the stuff. Yet here she was, her lashes mascaraed, her lips glossed, and wearing her favourite clingy blue singlet top—the one that accentuated what little assets she had.

Not only that, she’d dabbed her favourite rose perfume behind her ears! And for what? On the off-chance that Brody would actually look at her for more than two seconds?

The guy was totally immune to her and she should be glad. After her string of loser boyfriends she had no intention of going near a man for a long, long time. It didn’t take a genius to figure out why she always had to have a guy in her life: it was the whole ‘a little affection is better than none’ syndrome—hanging on to whatever she could get after having had zero love growing up.

But not any more. The next time she fell for anyone,
she’d make sure he could give her a lifetime of love. She deserved it, and she refused to settle for less.

So what was she doing preening for a guy who didn’t acknowledge her existence other than as his daughter’s playmate? Simple. She might have wised up when it came to the male species, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a tad vain—and after he’d seen her earlier, looking like a snowman, and a quivering one to boot, she needed to make a better impression!

‘Carissa! The pizza’s here,’ Molly yelled from the kitchen, and Carissa poked her tongue out at her reflection, trying to erase the memory of that loaded moment with Brody in the kitchen earlier, knowing the spark she’d glimpsed in his eyes had been a figment of her imagination but unable to forget it.

So what if she wanted to test his reactions by wearing something other than her usual drab stuff? There was nothing wrong with seeing if the man had a pulse.

‘Carissa! Come on!’

Opening her bedroom door, a whirlwind of flying pigtails and flaying arms grabbed her legs and hung on. ‘I’m starving. Are you ready?’

‘Sure am. I’m starving too. Let’s eat.’ Bending down to hug Molly, she blinked back the sudden sting of tears as she enveloped the warm little body in her arms.

This was what she wanted out of life. Unconditional love.

Some of her friends wanted high-powered careers, slick men and loads of money. Give her the no-strings-attached love of a child any day.

And the genuine love of a good man
. But she banished that thought as soon as it popped into her head.

There was no use wishing for a miracle. Especially as she’d given up on those a long time ago—around the time her adoptive father had locked her in the closet for hours, to ‘teach her a lesson’. She’d been Molly’s age at the time and could add claustrophobia to her mouse-phobia courtesy of the mean old coot.

Shrugging out of the embrace, Molly skipped ahead of her to the kitchen. ‘Pizza and buns. My favourites!’

After paying the delivery guy, who glared at her for making him wait, Carissa hoisted Molly onto a chair before sliding into one next to her and laying a generous slice of pizza on the little girl’s plate. ‘Here you go, sweetie. Eat up.’

‘Yummy.’ Molly clapped her hands in glee, took a big bite out of her slice and grinned, an olive stuck in the gap where her front tooth used to be.

Carissa laughed, enjoying the simple pleasure of watching the little girl devour the pizza slice as if she hadn’t eaten in a month.

‘That was so
yum
,’ Molly said, licking the mozzarella from her fingers. ‘Daddy doesn’t let me have pizza very often. He makes me eat yucky things like broccoli and sprouts. Gross!’

Carissa happened to agree with Molly about the veggie thing, but decided to keep that particular bit of knowledge to herself. ‘Your dad wants you to grow big and strong. That’s why it’s important to eat stuff like that.’

Molly wrinkled her nose and studied her with wide eyes. ‘That’s what he says. How come you know so much about children? Are you a mummy?’

Carissa’s heart clenched at the serious expression on Molly’s face and she chose her words carefully in
response. ‘I love children, Molly. I get to play with them all the time in my job at the fairy shop. And, though I’m not a mummy right now, I’d like to be one day.’

Would she ever. She’d love to have at least three of the little cherubs, and she’d do a damn sight better job of it than Betty Lovell had done with her. How that woman had turned a blind eye to her husband’s drunken mean streak still left Carissa wanting to throttle her. A mother nurtured, protected and cherished her child. Sure, Betty had provided for her basic needs, but as for protecting her from Ron’s foul mouth or cherishing her with the love Carissa had so desperately craved—she’d been useless.

‘I don’t have a mummy.’ Molly’s soft words wrenched her back to the present and she reached for the little girl instinctively, wanting to reassure her that everything would be all right despite only having one parent—and a cross one at that.

‘Your mummy’s in heaven, sweetheart, and that means she’s always with you, watching over you no matter where you are.’ Carissa cuddled Molly close, and she seemed quite content to snuggle into her arms—which only reinforced Carissa’s suspicions regarding Brody.

If the guy treated everyone around him like a potential enemy, how did he show love to his daughter? Did he cuddle her, comfort her, give her the affection she obviously craved? For Molly’s sake, she hoped so.

‘I know she’s in heaven,’ Molly said, resting her head on Carissa’s shoulder. ‘Daddy told me. I can’t remember much of Mummy, but Daddy does. He’s really sad that she’s not with us any more. I try to give him hugs
to make him feel better, but he’s still sad a lot. I can tell because he makes a face like this.’

Molly wriggled out of Carissa’s arms, sat back on her chair, frowned and compressed her lips in an accurate imitation of her father’s usual grim expression. Carissa struggled not to laugh.

Though there was nothing remotely funny about this darling child being able to sense Brody’s discontent with the world. How long would it take before Molly started associating Brody’s moodiness with her and reacting accordingly? The little girl was bright, sweet and affectionate, and she didn’t need to shoulder her father’s problems, nor take responsibility for something beyond her control.

So Brody still loved his wife and carried his grief around like a boulder around his neck? That was still no reason to push away everyone around him—particularly his daughter. Why couldn’t he see what was right in front of him? And, though it was none of her business, she was sorely tempted to march next door right this minute and tell him how his surliness was affecting his daughter.

‘Sometimes grown-ups are sad, Molly, and sometimes they’re happy. And when they’re happy, they do this.’ Carissa’s fingers crawled across her lap and marched towards Molly’s ribs, launching into a tickling session that left the little girl giggling and squirming and tickling her right back.

Thankfully the diversion worked, and Molly soon forgot about her absent mother and grumpy father, throwing herself enthusiastically into hot cross bun-making. They had just finished sampling two of an earlier
batch when Brody’s sharp knock at the back door signalled that the ogre had arrived to put a stop to the festivities.

‘Come in,’ Carissa called out, wiping her hands and dabbing at Molly’s milk moustache, suddenly self-conscious about the effort she’d made earlier with her appearance.

What had she been thinking? The guy was so in love with his dead wife that he wore his grief like a badge of honour. Little wonder he didn’t notice she existed—apart from being a playmate for his daughter.

‘Something smells good.’ Brody stepped into the kitchen, immediately dwarfing the space with his presence. She’d always loved the sunny yellow walls, the matching floral curtains and the collection of plates in higgledy-piggledy disarray on the wooden dresser of her kitchen, finding the room cosy. With Brody’s glowering presence the room suddenly felt claustrophobic.

‘We’ve been busy baking, Daddy. Want to try one? I made this one specially for you.’ Molly picked up the lumpiest, ugliest bun of the lot—the one Carissa had put aside because it hadn’t quite cooked through and the one that happened to be Molly’s first try—and handed it to her father.

‘Thanks, munchkin.’

Carissa folded her arms, sat back and grinned. Serve the grouch right. Maybe eating a bit of raw dough would soften him up? As if.

To his credit, Brody didn’t flinch, though she watched his Adam’s apple bob up and down convulsively as he struggled to swallow a few mouthfuls.

‘Am I a good bun-maker, Daddy?’

‘You’re the best, munchkin.’ Brody managed a tight smile for Molly while sending a glare in Carissa’s direction that read
you could’ve warned me
.

Taking pity on the guy, she stood and headed to the fridge. ‘Would you like some milk, Brody? You know—to wash some of that bun down? Molly and I have had a glass each—haven’t we, sweetie?’

Molly nodded and reached for another of her bun creations, which her father wisely refused this time.

‘No thanks, Molly. I’ll just have my milk, then it’s time for bed, okay?’

‘I don’t wanna go to bed yet.’

Carissa stopped mid-pour, surprised at Molly’s wail. The little girl had been nothing but polite for the last hour, and this petulant tone combined with a sulky pout seemed out of character.

But then what did she know? Perhaps this was a sign of how Molly dealt with her father’s demands on a daily basis? And, if so, why wasn’t he doing something about it?

Handing Brody his milk with a smirk, Carissa knelt down next to Molly. ‘Sweetie, remember how we talked about growing big and strong earlier? Well, we all need our sleep to do that. I’m tired, and I’m going to bed now too.’

Thankfully, Molly stood up and slipped a hand into her father’s like a meek lamb being led back to the flock. ‘Okay. Come on, Daddy, it’s time for me to do some growing.’

Expecting a smile, a nod, even a slight inclination of the head in gratitude, the flash of annoyance in Brody’s dark eyes surprised her.

Where had that come from? She’d thought she’d done extremely well in diverting a possible tantrum, and yet he acted as if she’d rammed ten raw buns down his throat. The man had a serious attitude problem and she’d had a gutful of him. Not to mention the fact that he hadn’t batted an eyelid in her direction to indicate he’d noticed her outfit or the trouble she’d gone to with her face.

‘You’d better go,’ she said, holding open the door and resisting the urge to kick his butt as he walked through it.

‘What do you say to Carissa, Molly?’

‘Thanks for having me, Carissa,’ Molly said, in a formal parody of manners obviously drummed into her.

‘My pleasure, sweetie. You can come over any time.’ Carissa sent a pointed glare in Brody’s direction, almost daring him to disagree.

Luckily for him, he managed a terse nod, closely followed by, ‘Thanks for spending time with Molly, Carissa. I appreciate it. Goodnight.’

Was it? She had her doubts.